


Held

by Vyc



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action, Cardassians, Claustrophobia, Expanded Relationship, Gen, In the style of a lost episode, Innuendo, Kidnapping, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, References to Torture, Terrorists, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...[T]he dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute." - Terry Pratchett. Approximately six weeks after The Circle's fall from power, a fragment of the organisation returns to lash out against the only Cardassian living on Deep Space Nine. What the terrorists didn't anticipate, however, was being interrupted mid-abduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is what I've mentally termed my Bajoran baby. I've been working on it for approximately half a year now--so actually, I suppose it counts as a _long_ Bajoran pregnancy.
> 
> I had several goals in writing this fic, some of which won't become clear until later on. The primary one was to challenge myself to write an episode of DS9, using its format, plot structure, and some of its tropes. (Some of said tropes, however, I played around with a little.) It was a fun exercise that took me well outside my usual style, and someday, I may very well try it again.
> 
> Another reason for writing this was to tie up a few loose ends from the three-part Season 2 opening: "The Homecoming," "The Circle," and "The Siege." There were several things about those episodes that make sense from a series production point of view, such as why The Circle was never heard from again even if it's very difficult to completely wipe out a terrorist cell all in one go--especially one with that level of support. And, well, why they attacked Quark as opposed to Garak, since, you know, budgets and hiring actors, and so forth. But these weren't very satisfying to me from a storytelling point of view, and so I decided to play around with the situation.
> 
> A huge thank you goes to [tinsnip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip), who gave me an extremely thorough beta involving just about everything and who suggested the title for the story (you don't want to know what it would have been called if I were left my own devices), and to Yosie, who's been reading my writing for thirteen years now (!) and knows where I make my mistakes. This is a hell of a lot better story thanks to them. <3
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my Bajoran baby, haha.

"Thanks again for eating this late. I _promise_ everything will be sorted at the infirmary soon." Julian leaned in, attempting to convey just how serious he was about his promise. Unfortunately, he had to step aside to let a security officer exit the turbolift next to him immediately afterward, so his action probably didn't have the effect he had intended.

Garak smiled anyway and set a hand on his upper arm. "There's no need to concern yourself on my account. When it comes to you, my dear doctor, my schedule is always free and clear."

Some of the tension unknitted in him, and for the moment, he was able to return the smile without preoccupation. "Thanks, Garak."

It had all been a bit of a mess in the infirmary over the past few days. One of their senior Bajoran medics had needed to go into premature labour; while her replacement had been on standby, a death in the family had understandably delayed his assumption of his temporary post. In the meantime, they'd all divided up the work as best they could. Juggling his usual unpredictable duties on top of a share of another's had forced Julian to cancel his weekly lunch with Garak two days in a row. When he'd managed to snag a full hour for a late supper, though, he'd immediately headed to Garak's shop, and, well, that had been that.

Now, regrettably, it was time to go back into the fray.

"I'll see you next week at the usual time, then," Julian went on, and that was regretable, too. Not for the first time, it occurred to him to suggest that they share a meal more often—the days he ate with Garak were always his clear favourites. But if he was going to do so, it would be after things were back to normal (or what passed for it). Any potential changes to their routine were going to have to wait.

"Are you certain that's a promise you can keep?" Garak teased. He let his hand drop, and with the loss of contact came the return of stress. Oh hell, he still had twenty-seven more sets of sample data to write up before morning, didn't he?

He sighed. "Not in the slightest. Have a good evening, Garak."

"You as well, Doctor."

"If only," he muttered as Garak entered the turbolift.

He hadn't even got halfway back to the infirmary when, in the midst of planning out that damned write-up, his memory belatedly started functioning again. Next week—that was when he'd agreed to work a double shift to cover Solan's vacation day. Of course.

The sigh that followed that unfortunate recollection was much more forceful as he stopped, turned, and retraced his steps to the turbolift to follow his friend. At least Garak was likely to get some amusement out of the continuing disaster that was his schedule. He was lucky his friend never seemed to truly mind anything—better to have only one of them frustrated than both.

"Garak?" he called out as the turbolift doors opened on Habitat Level H-3. When he didn't receive a response, he picked up his pace. "Garak, you won't believe this, but I'm going to have to ask you to reschedule our lunch a—"

He turned a corner.

And directly in front of him were three masked humanoids in burgundy robes. One lay still on the ground. One was bent in two, arms wrapped tight around an injured midsection. The last supported with difficulty an unconscious Cardassian man.

Julian's hand struck for his combadge, but hard fingers snapped around his wrist. There was no time to yell or drive an elbow backwards—a hypo hissed against his neck. All he did have time for was a single thought:

Not three of them, after all.

*

"Jabara, have you seen Dr. Bashir?" Dr. Solan asked, looking up from the case file she'd been studying.

"No, but he'll probably be back soon." Jabara's eyebrows drew together slightly. "He was having supper with the Cardassian."

Solan grimaced. She liked Dr. Bashir—while he was clueless and Federation, he was a brilliant doctor and nothing but kind to all of them. But she really wished he would stop associating with the Cardassian, especially since he always rushed in a little late after seeing him, full of apologies and as giddy as a schoolboy. She never could meet his eyes until work had settled him down again.

"I hope he turns up soon—someone has to finish up his sample data and I don't want it to be me," she said and turned back to her file. She only realized she, too, was frowning when she reached up later to rub her forehead.

*

As far as Odo was concerned, there were bad days on Deep Space 9, and there were days. (No day could be termed "good" as long as Quark walked free.)

This was shaping up to be one of the bad ones. He'd barely reached his office before he'd had to arrest two people for being drunk and disorderly (at 0900 hours?), and that had set the tone for the rest of the day. Things had culminated with fully a third of the station's security cameras going offline.

He'd been on high alert ever since. Chief O'Brien had suggested it was probably a glitch with the Cardassian computers—even a year after the handover, the Federation was still having trouble with them—but he doubted it. He doubted it very much. And even if he were wrong, he didn't think for a second that DS9's criminal element would ignore his temporary disadvantage.

So while the cameras were offline, Odo made sure to patrol the affected areas very closely—and to periodically check in with O'Brien. The man was beginning to sound testy, but that wasn't Odo's problem. If anything, it would likely motivate him to fix the cameras faster.

"Infirmary to security."

"Odo here."

"Sir, this is Dr. Solan." A hesitation. "Dr. Bashir hasn't shown up for the last few hours of his shift."

He stopped walking and frowned. "Are you sure he hasn't just been detained?"

"We thought so at first, but . . . the computer says he isn't on the station. Was there an emergency we weren't notified about?"

"If there was, then no one told _me_." He paused. "Where was he last seen?"

"With the Cardassian, sir. They were having supper together."

He was liking this situation less by the moment. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll keep you informed. Odo out."

He wasted no time; as soon as his link with the infirmary ended, he demanded, "Computer, what is the location of Dr. Bashir?"

The response was prompt: "Dr. Bashir is not on this station."

Odo growled out a breath. Time for the next step. Garak was a civilian and therefore didn't wear a combadge, but finding his location was almost as easy as if he did.

"Computer, run a scan for Cardassian lifeforms."

. . . Or in theory it was.

"There are no Cardassians on this station."

So. On the same day a large number of security cameras mysteriously stopped working, a high-ranking member of Starfleet went missing along with one of the least trustworthy Cardassians Odo had ever met.

He had no proof that Garak was other than what he said he was—yet. But there had to be a very good reason the man had decided to open shop on a Bajoran station, and the only Cardassian Odo had met who smiled half as much was Gul Dukat. There wasn't a much better definition of "poor company" than that.

It was still possible, of course, that all these happenings were lining up by coincidence. Possible, but not at all likely.

He reached up to hit his combadge, but before he could, it activated.

"Dax to Odo."

"Odo here." Now what?

He could almost hear Dax frowning as she said, "Constable, did you give permission to the Kressari freighter docked at Secondary Docking Port Nine to depart?"

"Of course not, Lieutenant. That's hardly my job."

"Well, someone must have, because it's gone."

Disabled security cameras, a missing Federation officer and Cardassian civilian, and now a ship that had left the station without permission. He'd have to be a fool not to see the connections here.

"Tell Commander Sisko I need to see him in his office immediately. If I'm right, we have a much bigger problem on our hands than a missing freighter."


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak wake up in unfortunate circumstances and the senior staff on DS9 begin problem-solving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with misdirection, assumptions, and the theoretically infinite variety of Gamma Quadrant species in this chapter, as you'll probably be able to tell. One of the other main ideas I decided to play with in this fic begins to come into play in this chapter, so that's always fun. Next update, I'll elaborate a little more on it, but for now, enjoy the show!

Well, now. That had been a much longer nap than he had intended to take.

. . . Had he intended to take a nap?

Of course he had. Why else would he be lying on the floor?

Why _was_ he lying on the—

Julian jolted upright, then shot his hand out to brace himself as he nearly collapsed backwards again. His knuckles scraped again something far too rough to be a proper wall and he gasped, but he wasn't going to spend any time figuring out what that had been until he was well and truly sure he wasn't about to cover himself with the remains of his dinner with Garak.

He spent a couple of minutes breathing in the stale air of wherever he was through his nose and blowing it out through his mouth. Only when his stomach had settled did he crack his eyes open.

Really, there wasn't much difference between having his eyes open or shut. It was almost perfectly dark in . . . was this some sort of cave? The only lighting came from the force field only a pace or two in front of him, but it was still bright enough for him to see the still figure lying just more than an arm's length away.

"Garak!"

The name was much more whisper than shout as Julian scrambled to his side. He ignored the new dizziness his sudden movement birthed, ignored very hard the implications of their location. His focus on the other man needed to be absolute.

He found Garak's wrist and took his pulse. As he counted, he checked his other vital signs. Still unconscious from the drug—probably kayolane at a dosage intended for a Cardassian and not a Human, which would explain his own mild adverse reaction. Garak's breathing was steady, if a bit slow, and he couldn't see any signs of distress. . . . And there—his pulse seemed to be within a normal range, although he wished he could be more certain. Cardassians were secretive about even basic facts of their biology; it had taken a fair bit of detective work for him to learn the little he had.

Now that he was certain Garak was in no medical danger, Julian took a moment to look around a little more. The room—the cell they were in was almost certainly a natural niche in a cave system. It was just tall enough for him to stand up without bumping his head, but three long steps would let him cross the room. It was clearly a cell built for one, despite both of them being left inside: a blessing. As cramped as it was, he felt much better for having Garak with him.

His mental inventory finished, he reached for his combadge; his fingers met cloth. He couldn't say he was surprised. It had been a lot to hope for.

A few moments later, he felt Garak's hand twitch beneath his grip; he'd been so preoccupied with understanding their situation that he had forgotten to let go. Immediately and with some embarrassment, he released him, but before he could withdraw his hand, Garak's fingers caught his.

"Garak?" Julian whispered.

Garak grunted, exhaled—and then, still with his eyes closed, he smiled. "If I'd known you were inviting me out for this kind of supper, I would have worn something far more suitable." He gave his fingers a squeeze and then let him go. Julian felt his cheeks go hot.

"I'm, um, afraid this isn't quite what I had been expecting either." He cleared his throat. "I think we're in trouble, Garak."

Garak sighed, and only then did he open his eyes and sit up (seemingly without the same side effects—now that was unfair). Though Julian's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, he could still see the way Garak's gaze locked instantly on the containment field.

When he spoke, his voice sounded different than usual—sharper. "I would say that's an accurate assessment of our situation. If I'm not mistaken, your friend the Constable would do quite a bit to get his hands on a force field this advanced." He held up a hand when Julian took in a breath. "Just a little something I overheard when a pair of security officers were in my shop the other day."

"Of course," Julian answered, and despite the severity of their situation, his lips tugged into a smile.

That smile faded, however, when Garak—who was now taking in the pitiful remainder of the room—spoke again.

"Our hosts weren't . . . very generous with their accommodations, were they?"

Julian frowned a little. Garak's voice had abruptly lost a good deal of its sharpness. He wasn't afraid, was he? He supposed it was possible, but he'd never heard Garak sound less than perfectly self-assured. He couldn't imagine even something like being kidnapped rattling him. (After all, spies dealt with far worse on a regular basis.) 

It must have been the dryness of the air making his voice catch. That was just as likely of an explanation, he decided.

His response was a light, "Not terribly, no, but at least they were kind enough to leave us together."

Garak took in a breath. "I assume it had more to do with not having another cell of this quality than kindness. If their 'secret hideout' is in a cave, I can't imagine they're usually this fortunate in their equipment."

There—Garak sounded the same as always. It must have been the air, as he'd thought.

"I think" —Julian stood, taking care in case his estimate of the cell's height was off— "that rather than sitting around and speculating about our captors, we should find out who they are and why we're here—wherever 'here' is."

Garak remained seated. The hard but dim force field light cast shadows that fell oddly on the other man's facial ridges. It was difficult to get a sense of his expression, particularly when he could barely make out more than the glint of his eyes.

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"It's simple: I'll ask them."

"Doctor. . . ."

Julian ignored the weariness in Garak's voice and stepped forward, stopping just short of the force field. "Hello? Hello! Whoever's out there, show yourself!"

His voice echoed through what looked to be a much wider chamber. He couldn't make out where it led, but the lights were so feeble he wasn't surprised. If he had been going by sight alone, for all he knew, the wall could be three or thirty metres in front of them. And if there were a guard nearby, then they were standing in darkness.

"I see they didn't pay for soundproofing," Garak observed from behind him.

"Are you sure?" Julian asked without turning around. If he leaned right in with his nose _just_ not touching the force field, he could see . . . two more centimetres of cave. How wonderful.

"Quite sure. If they had, your voice wouldn't create an echo and you would abandon your plan of giving me a headache."

He glanced over his shoulder at Garak, who was still huddled on the floor, then back. "Well, I'm hardly going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs until our captors decide to show themselves."

"My dear doctor, you'll find that's exactly what you'll have to do." There was an edge to Garak's voice now, an unfamiliar one. He and Garak often disagreed in the course of their discussions, and while Garak occasionally was sarcastic, overall, he remained polite—sometimes more polite than Julian himself.

His lips thinned. Their situation was becoming more alarming by the moment if it really did have Garak worried.

He took in a deep breath. "Hello! I demand to see whoever is in charge here! Hello!"

Behind him, Garak groaned quietly. Julian felt guilty for a moment for troubling his friend, but if it meant getting Garak out of this situation faster, he would simply have to keep shouting.

*

There were a lot of unhappy faces turned toward Commander Sisko around the table in ops. His own probably fit the collection quite nicely. Nobody was talking much as they waited for Chief O'Brien to join them, and he didn't blame them. After all, Dr. Bashir gave the impression of being a bit defenceless. He supposed that was unfair—the doctor had proven himself very capable during The Circle's invasion of the station over a month ago. But . . . he was still young in a way Major Kira, his peer by the numbers only, was not. And if Odo was right and he had been betrayed by a close friend, it wasn't a situation he could see the doctor coping with well at all.

Sisko let out a breath. The only thing these what-if thoughts were doing were making him more stressed by the situation than he already was, and that would make his officers stressed. Now that he could see O'Brien coming up the turbolift, it was time to focus on only the facts.

"All right, people, what have we got?"

"It was definitely sabotage, sir," O'Brien reported as he took his place at the table. "I found a nasty bit of work jamming the circuits in one of the conduits. The surveillance cameras going down was no accident—for once."

"Any idea where it came from?"

"None, sir. It was the sort of thing anybody could put together if they knew what they were doing."

"Thank you, Chief." He turned his attention to Dax. "Any luck tracing the ion trail of the vessel?"

She shook her head. "We could follow the trail for a while, but the last few days have been so busy, it gets lost in the noise almost immediately. I'm not convinced they aren't masking it, either."

"What was the listed destination of the freighter?"

"The Gamma Quadrant," Major Kira answered. "But that was obviously a lie. Even if we can _apparently_ miss a freighter undocking, we wouldn't have missed the wormhole."

"It is a little flashy," he agreed; only Dax smiled. "Constable, when was the last time anyone saw Dr. Bashir or Garak?"

"One of my officers passed them by the turbolift across from shipping brokerage around twenty hundred hours." While Odo never sounded anything better than displeased, there was real, half-suppressed anger in his voice today. The moment he finished his report, Sisko knew, he would stop trying to hold it back.

"How did they seem? Upset? Tense?"

"Happy." The word left Odo's mouth as if he were glad to be rid of it. "She said that they were obviously enjoying each other's company—they didn't stop looking at each other even when they were stepping out of her way."

"I see." So much for that.

Odo wasn't finished, however. "Commander, I hate to say 'I told you so,' but—"

Sisko held up his hands. Here it was. "You told me so. Yes, Constable, I'm aware of your opinions about Mr. Garak."

"If you had let me take him in for questioning like I'd asked, none of this would be happening right now!"

"He hadn't done anything wrong and I'm still not convinced he has."

Odo harrumphed and, arms folded tight against his body, turned away. Sisko stayed where he was.

"I find our tailor suspicious, just as you do, but you can't arrest someone without evidence. We've been over this."

"Yes, and I find your argument just as unconvincing as the last five times you offered it," Odo retorted and Sisko took in a breath. Now that was a step too far.

Before he could speak, however, Dax caught his gaze; she had left the command table as he and Odo were speaking to answer a notification. All Sisko needed was a single glance at her widened eyes to know that the matter of Odo's insubordination was going to be waiting a while.

"Benjamin, we're being hailed."

His eyebrows drew together. "By who?"

"I don't know. The signal is scrambled."

He glanced at the Major; now she was frowning, too. That masked signal wasn't a good sign by any stretch of the imagination.

"Chief, see if you can work out where the signal's coming from. I have the feeling we're about to get a few answers." He waited until O'Brien had all but jumped into the engineering pit—thereby putting him out of sight—before adding, "Onscreen."

An image of three humanoids filled the viewer. Masks of some translucent material distorted their faces so that they could be any sex and quite a different number of species. The deep burgundy, subtly patterned cloaks they had wrapped themselves in made distinguishing any sort of detail even more difficult.

"Commander Sisko?" The one front and centre spoke first. She was probably a woman, although Sisko couldn't rule out other possibilities.

He stepped forward, away from the ops table. "It seems you're looking for me. What can I do for you?"

"We're members of the Alliance for Global Unity. We're contacting you regarding a matter of some delicacy."

"The Circle?" Odo asked in disbelief from behind him. "I thought all you people had been arrested after your coup failed last month."

There was an art to deciphering unfamiliar reactions, and it was one Sisko was becoming rather proficient in. Reading a masked Bajoran (a member of The Circle couldn't be anything else) was simple compared to working out the means of expression of a brand new Gamma Quadrant species. It was quite clear, then, from the way the woman's shoulders had set that Odo's remark had not pleased her one bit.

"We did suffer a minor setback, it's true, but the Alliance is far stronger than you're giving it credit for," she answered steadily.

"I would hardly call the arrest of all your leaders a 'minor setback,'" Odo retorted; the woman stiffened further.

"Odo," Sisko warned with both tone and a brief glance. He returned his gaze to the viewing screen. "What 'matter of some delicacy' would this be?"

The woman once again assumed her detached demeanour to answer. "During the course of a mission, your chief medical officer surprised us. In the heat of the moment, our operatives decided to take him with us, but as a gesture of goodwill to the Federation, we want to return him to you, unharmed in any way."

Sisko did not like this one bit. He hadn't needed the confirmation of what had happened to Dr. Bashir; it had become obvious the moment they'd been contacted. That his chief medical officer was in their hands was bad enough—that The Circle was still carrying out operations on DS9 was no better. And while they had yet to share the nature of their so-called "mission" with him, the last unaccounted detail of the evening gave him a good working theory as to what it was.

As he had been absorbing this, Major Kira had not stayed silent.

"You mean now that your little group has been decimated and it's lost its support on Bajor, you suddenly want to be friends with the people you were trying to drive out," she challenged. "Do you really think even the Federation is going to let bygones be bygones because you returned one of its doctors in one piece when _you_ were the ones to kidnap him in the first place?"

The moment the three terrorists turned to focus on Kira, Sisko slid his gaze to Dax. She shook her head slightly: no fix on their location from O'Brien yet.

He looked back to the screen again as the leader answered, "Maybe not, but it's a step in the right direction." Her attention returned to him. "I'd prefer if we could stop wasting time and begin organizing the details of your doctor's return."

"That would be agreeable," Sisko said pleasantly. "And we could save even more time by organizing the details of Mr. Garak's return while we're at it."

None of the Circle members had been given to expressive movements to this point. They had all been professional and contained; the insults to their organization had provoked little reaction, all told. So when the three terrorists went still for just a beat, that only made the change all the more significant.

". . . The Cardassian isn't your concern," the leader said, her voice still harder than before.

In deliberate contrast, Sisko remained pleasant—but now there was a bite to his smile. "I disagree. Mr. Garak is a resident of this station. That makes him my concern." And now he let his own mask fall. It was no longer the time to be congenial. "I want him back at the same time as Dr. Bashir, and I want both of them in perfect condition. Otherwise, you won't be earning much of that 'goodwill' you seem to value."

The woman's chin lifted. "We'll return the doctor alone or not at all. It's your decision. You have an hour to make it."

The screen blanked out.

Right away, Sisko called, "Any luck, Chief?"

"No, sir." He heard what could only be the sound of a hand smacking metal. "I _almost_ had it. The next time she calls, though, I'll be ready—I promise."

All right. Now it was time to do what they could. "Dax, work with the Chief. See what you can turn up with the data we already have. Major, Odo, I want you to find out when and where any splinter groups of The Circle were last active, including where the most recent arrests were made. Then coordinate with the Chief and Dax. We have one hour—let's make good use of it."

Before his officers could do more than voice their agreement, however, he added deliberately, "I know none of us are very fond of Mr. Garak, but I want each one of you to put the same amount of effort into rescuing him as you are with Dr. Bashir. Whatever else he may be, Garak is a resident of this station. I do not want The Circle or anyone else to think that there is such a thing as an acceptable target on DS9. Understood?"

"Of course, Benjamin," Dax answered right away. The other three were slower to agree—but only just.

"Good. Dismissed."

His staff scattered and Sisko himself returned to his office. It was time to have a talk with the Bajoran provisional government.


	3. Act Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian solves the mystery of Garak's strange behaviour and begins to realise just how little he can do to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! As was hinted at in the previous chapter and as will become extremely evident in this one, another thing I wanted to play with was what would happen if Julian learned of Garak's claustrophobia much earlier on, and what the effects would be on their relationship of dealing with it alone. Originally, I had intended to do a whole series of fic branching off from this one--but I've had so many other ideas that I haven't actually written them yet. I do intend to do write at least one or two more, but we'll see when I actually get to them.
> 
> A note about the next update: while I very much hope to have it posted on time next Friday, for personal reasons, that may not be possible. Rest assured, though, that it will turn up before the end of next weekend. ♥

"Hello? _Hello_! He—oh, what's the use?"

Julian gave a frustrated sigh and scanned the larger corridor beyond the force field one last time. It felt as though he'd been shouting for _days_ and if he hadn't attracted their captors' attention by now, he wasn't going to. He'd even begun to annoy himself; Garak was a saint to put up with that noise for so long.

"I'm sorry, Garak," he began as he turned from the field. "I guess I've given you a headache for—Garak?"

The other man was sitting in precisely the same place he'd been when Julian had started his attempt to attract attention—but "sitting" was far too ordinary of a word to describe Garak's position. With his legs crunched to his chest, his forehead pressed to his knees, and his hands clamped over his ears, Garak was a crumpled ball, shockingly small. To see someone who effortlessly drew Julian's attention so reduced was a kick to the heart, and even had the distance between them been a hundred metres, Julian would have crossed it in an instant.

He crouched before his friend, nearly sprawling forward in his haste, and gripped his upper arm. "Garak?"

Perhaps Garak couldn't hear his voice, but he should have reacted immediately to the touch. He didn't. It took one, two counts before Garak lifted his head and lowered his hands from his ears, and in that time, Julian could see that—despite the comfortable temperature of the cave—sweat dampened the rough skin of Garak's forehead.

"Oh, have you finished already?" Garak asked, clearly trying for his customary light tone. Trying only: strain marred each syllable. "I was certain you'd be at it all night."

"What's wrong? Are you feeling ill?" He reached to pull apart Garak's hands to take his pulse, but Garak shifted away.

"Nothing's wrong, Doctor. I was simply tired of your shouting and was looking for what little peace this minuscule hole in the ground could offer."

Julian frowned. That was wrong as well. It had been unusual before, when Garak had only been short with him. Now that he actually seemed to be speaking with the intent to wound? It was downright strange, and that concerned him just as much as the decline in Garak's physical condition. 

He reached again. This time, he was permitted to capture a wrist. Prying it from where it caged Garak's knees, he barely had to touch his clammy skin to feel his pulse jumping out at him. The speed at which it beat made his own heart leap.

"Garak, do you have any allergies?" Automatically, he began glancing about his surroundings—but there was no point. His resources were the clothes on their backs, one blanket, and a large quantity of rocks. There was nothing he could do with any of it if Garak was having a reaction to the sedative that had been used on them.

"No, and I already said that I am _fine_ ," Garak snapped. His gaze slid away to dart from one wall to the other and back.

Julian released his wrist; Garak immediately drew his hand back to his knee. "Yes, and I believe that's the worst lie you've ever told me—even worse than the one where you're not a spy."

Garak didn't respond. He didn't even smile.

. . . Suddenly, Julian was very worried indeed.

"It isn't our situation, is it?" He leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, trying to catch his eyes. "Don't worry. I promise I'm going to do everything I can to get us out of this. I won't let anything happen to you."

Garak's response was a crack of a laugh that filled the tiny cell unpleasantly. Julian froze, his hand trapped in the air between them.

"Doctor, you really shouldn't make promises you can't keep. Do you honestly think you'll be able to pry a defenceless Cardassian out of the hands of a rabble of Bajoran terrorists?"

Julian let his hand drop to his side, too caught by surprise to press forward. "They're Bajoran? How do you know?"

"When they were trying to subdue me, I knocked one of their hoods aside. Even when they know they're going into a fight, Bajorans never take off their earrings." The corners of Garak's lips tightened in what ordinarily would have been a smile—though a very different one than Julian was used to seeing. "Much to their detriment."

That last part didn't make any sense to him, but that wasn't important at the moment. "Are you sure they couldn't be another species pretending to be Bajoran? I couldn't tell a thing about them with those disguises."

"It's possible, but I doubt it." Garak took in a long breath; in the deep silence of the caves, hearing the shudder in the sound was unavoidable. "With Bajorans, the motive for my kidnapping is plain, as is my fate."

Garak didn't need to specify what his fate might be. The Cardassian Occupation had ended barely two years ago. Julian had been briefed on what had gone on during that time before arriving at DS9: it was expected he would be involved in the long-term treatment of the station's Bajoran residents and would be referring patients to psychiatric care. In the past year, what had once been stark words on a padd had become very real to him.

He'd also seen what The Circle had done to Quark. He'd been the one to run the dermal regenerator over the brand their operatives had given him. Quark had been on the station back when it was in Cardassian hands, it was true, but he was a Ferengi. He wasn't a member of the species responsible for so much Bajoran suffering. Garak was.

With so many grim images leaking past his barriers, this time, Julian didn't pull back. He reached out and gripped Garak's shoulders. “Look, we're going to get out of—"

"Doctor, not _now_ ," Garak nearly shouted in the voice of a man whose control had frayed to the last thread.

Julian stopped. "I was only—"

"Your _hands_ , if you would be so kind." Garak's voice was quieter but no less hard.

He lifted them away at once. "I'm sorry—I was just trying to make you feel better."

That odd version of a smile returned for a moment. "Under the circumstances, I'll have to decline that particular variety of comfort." When it must have been obvious Julian still had no idea what he was talking about, Garak went on. "There's a very particular way one needs to go about touching a Cardassian's shoulders, unless you want to send completely the wrong message. That wasn't it."

For a moment, Julian stared at Garak, trying to decipher what he meant. (Garak was holding his gaze now; even if his other physical symptoms were still present, that was an improvement.) The very instant he remembered the results of his recent research, however, he flushed burning hot.

"Oh god, Garak, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's quite all right," Garak interrupted, and at least there was _some_ mercy in the universe. "I know you intended something else by the gesture, but I would recommend avoiding touching me there in the future—unless you mean it."

Fresh heat rushed through him. "I, uh, will." Gingerly, he set his hands on Garak's upper arms. "Is that better?"

Garak twitched beneath his hands . . . then relaxed a fraction. Julian's breath caught. Only now, with that change, was his friend's tension clear; he seemed ready to shiver into shards. He may have distracted Garak for the moment, but only partly, only temporarily. The underlying problem remained—but what was it?

"Yes, I'd" —Garak breathed out, long and slow— "say we're communicating nicely now."

"Since we are, then, why don't you tell me what's wrong?" Julian pressed, and there went any relief he'd given Garak, right there.

"Nothing is wrong, except that you won't stop _bothering_ me."

"You're sweating, irritable, short of breath, and your pulse has gone through the roof. Not that we have much of a roof to speak of, but the point still stands. If you're expecting your doctor to ignore those symptoms, you must have a pretty poor opinion of my standards of practice."

. . . There had been a flinch there—he'd felt it under his hands when he'd been talking about their cell. There was something there. He'd wondered before if Garak were afraid, and it would make sense: a Cardassian in the hands of very angry Bajoran extremists had a great deal to be afraid of. He wanted to deny the thought of what they might do to Garak—his mind flat-out ran from it—but it could well be that Garak was being both pessimistic and . . . and realistic. Julian had fought these people, or at least members of their group, not that long ago in their attempt to take over the station. He knew what they were like.

“You're not worried about our situation, are you?” Before receiving confirmation, he went on. “I've already said that I'm going to make sure we both get out of this in one piece and I mean it. It's not an empty promise.”

"My dear doctor, I appreciate your desire to play hero to my damsel, but you'll find that there truly is nothing you can do. You're only deluding yourself if you think otherwise." His gaze went blank for a moment and another shiver went through him. "To tell the truth—"

"A momentous occasion," Julian interrupted, trying to bring back Garak a little. It was almost as if he were cutting in and out, an unstable frequency, from his confident friend to a scared man and back again. It was beginning to deeply trouble him in turn.

Garak barely smiled. "I find this whole situation more embarrassing than frightening. Of all the people to kidnap me, it had to be the dregs of an ineffectual band of riffraff."

"Hardly a fitting end for a spy," he tried again.

"Hardly a fitting end for anyone," Garak corrected. He closed his eyes; his shoulders hunched. "And yet here I am, b-buried alive in this pathetic, airless excuse for a prison. It's laughable, really."

He gave a thready chuckle, but Julian had no attention for that sound. He almost didn't dare breathe. He had his answer.

"Garak, you're claustrophobic, aren't you?" he asked, his voice slow but, as he felt out each word, steadily more confident.

Garak opened his eyes and actually glared across the scant centimetres that separated their faces. "Don't be foolish. I may not like it in here, but there's no need to jump to conclusions."

"You are. You stammered just now—"

"Of all the ludicrous—"

" _You_ , Garak," Julian overrode him. "Me, yes, that's not so strange, but you. . . ."

"I had something caught in my throat. That's all. So if you could stop being so fanciful. . . ."

He tried to pull back, but Julian wasn't letting him go anywhere. "Then what about your physical symptoms? If you're not having an allergy attack, then those are classic signs of panic. You've already told me that the terrorists are embarrassing, not frightening, so that leaves our surroundings."

Garak turned roughly away; this time, Julian allowed it. "You've been reading too many of those dreadful mystery novels of yours. I'm—"

He breathed in sharply, his words vanishing, and he scrabbled back around in the least controlled movement Julian had ever seen him make.

He'd turned from the light of the force field and the sight of the space beyond their cell, Julian realised. If he really was claustrophobic, facing less than a metre of darkness and solid rock would have been a horrible mistake.

"Of course," was all he said in response. It was all he needed to.

He should have worked this out sooner. Now that he was thinking of it, months ago when they'd started having lunch together, he'd suggested that they try Quark's as a change from the replimat. Garak had turned down the suggestion—he'd even said that he found the press of people "claustrophobic"—and so the only times they'd ever gone were those few days when the replimat was even busier. He'd accepted Garak's response at face value; after all, sometimes so many people crammed into Quark's that even he found it a bit much. He'd never thought Garak had been using the term in its medical sense.

And now here they were, trapped in the dark in a suffocatingly tiny cell. If Garak's claustrophobia were acute, then this would be worse than any torture the terrorists were planning for him. And there was frustratingly little Julian could do to alleviate his symptoms.

. . . Little, but not nothing.

Julian shifted into a more comfortable seated position (not that there were many available to him). Giving Garak plenty of time to move away if he wanted, he let his shoulder press against Garak's, but not too hard, so as not to increase the sensation of being closed in. And, with great care, he began easing Garak's fingers apart from where they were clamped around each other.

Garak let him, passively, not helping but not resisting. It was only when Julian slid his own hand into place and wove their fingers together that Garak raised his head.

"I don't need your pity, Doctor, so you can put an end to it right now." But, despite the harshness of his voice, this time he stayed precisely where he was.

"I know," Julian answered, and he did know. If he were in Garak's position and someone had offered him pity, he would have taken their head off. "But I thought you might like my friendship."

He could feel Garak go still against his shoulder; with the way his head was bowed, the state of his body was his best guide. Then, with a rare quietness, the answer came:

"That, I could accept."

The strain was back in his voice again—he must have decided it wasn't worth the effort to try to hide it now that Julian had worked him out. It was hard to listen to.

"What can I do to help you?" he asked abruptly. He had his training for when it came to this sort of problem, but at the moment, it was largely useless. Remove the patient from the situation causing the attack? He could see that going well, asking to be transferred to a larger, brighter cell. Even if The Circle did decide to finally pay attention to them, those damned terrorists would no doubt put Garak in a smaller one instead—alone.

"If you could keep talking, that . . . would be useful."

As gently and as slowly as he could, Julian nudged Garak with his shoulder. Once again, Garak allowed the contact but did not react to it.

"I have to say, that's the first time anyone's ever made that request of me. Of course I can. What would you like me to talk about?"

He felt Garak pull into himself as he took a long breath. "Anything is fine. As long as you don't mind that I won't be—I don't believe I'll be saying very much back."

Julian squeezed his hand. By now, his palm was just as sweat-slicked as Garak's, but he didn't mind in the slightest. Perfect strangers had done far, far worse to and on him, after all. This didn't even register as a minor inconvenience.

"If what I've been told is correct, that won't be a problem," he said lightly. "Let's see."

He took a moment to come up with something diverting that didn't require concentration, his gaze on nothing in particular. It was only when he was ready and his eyes lowered for a moment that he realized he had been rubbing Garak's hand with his thumb while he'd been thinking. He stopped. When he felt no change in Garak's body, he let out a soft breath through his nose. He wasn't sure what Garak might classify as pity, but he didn't want to take any chances.

Now awkwardly aware of his thumbs, Julian began, "Well, um. I, ah, had Chief O'Brien in this morning with another dislocated shoulder from kayaking in the holosuite—or would that be yesterday morning now? Anyway, ah, he keeps doing it and I keep telling him not to, but he doesn't seem to appreciate that very much.

"Have you ever gone kayaking, Garak?" Oh, damn, no questions. Nothing Garak would feel as if he had to respond to. "When we get back to DS9, perhaps we ought to try it. Though . . . at a lower difficulty setting. I don't relish the idea of a dislocated shoulder, and I can't imagine you do, either."

Abruptly, he noticed his thumb was moving on Garak's hand again. This time, instead of stopping himself, he tried to get a look at Garak's face. It was still impossible to read his expression in the dark (there was only so far Human vision could adjust), but, well. He didn't seemed to _dislike_ it, and possibly the contact was helping. He'd keep it up for now.

"Come to think of it, there are several holosuite programs I think you'd like. We really should give them a try together sometime."

Garak took in a breath. While his voice was low, when he spoke, he sounded a little more like himself again. "As long as you don't mind people starting rumours about the two of us spending so much time in the holosuites together."

Julian felt himself go so hot, he was positive Garak would feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I-I wasn't talking about _those_ programs! The holosuites are for far more than that, and people should really know better."

The idea of bringing Garak along for something like that was honestly ridiculous, and the sooner he got the conversation away from there, the better!

"Ah, um, I'm about halfway through the book you loaned me. . . ."

As he continued to speak, he split his attention between monitoring Garak's condition and the hallway outside. There was no sign of movement from their captors. As time passed, Garak's breathing grew harsher and shallower and the shudders that periodically passed through Garak's body and into his own became more frequent.

Garak was keeping himself together for now, though obviously at great cost. Julian had faith in him, and yet—everyone had their breaking point. He had no idea where Garak's lay, but he was worried he was going to find out.


	4. Act Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The senior staff on DS9 continue their attempts to rescue Julian and Garak, and Garak's condition worsens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a whole lot to say about this chapter, actually. Mostly it's a continuation of the things I've played with in earlier chapters--and, of course, me insisting on making things worse.
> 
> On a side note, though, anyone who catches the tiny little Vienna Teng reference in this gets a whole batch of cookies.

A very small corner of O'Brien's mind, the only corner not bearing down on unscrambling the location of that blasted signal, found time to be grateful that Commander Sisko had decided to assign Lieutenant Dax to him. As much as he liked his superior officers, anyone else and he'd be snapping the sorts of things that got a man demoted. It was hard to snap at Dax, though. She was just so—serene. Probably came from being older than all their grandmothers put together.

Whatever the reason, it was a good thing for him—the only good thing he'd run into since this whole damned mess had begun.

The sound of boots on metal caught his attention, and O'Brien took his hands from the circuitry before looking up. No sense in making things worse through carelessness.

"How's it going?" Major Kira asked as she swung down the ladder.

"Not good," Dax answered for them. "We have the signal isolated to either the second or third moon of Bajor, but we're having trouble getting more specific than that."

"And since both moons were popular hideouts for rebels during the Occupation. . . ." the Major began.

He didn't need to finish her sentence, but he did it anyway. "It's not much help, is it?"

"If you can whittle it down further, I've got a list of terrorist arrests made in the last six months—I thought it wouldn't hurt to be thorough," she added. "The Constable should be ready with his own information soon. We have another thirty minutes before The Circle calls again."

Thirty damned minutes to pinpoint a signal that could be coming from literally anywhere on a couple of moons. Oh, there was nothing to that. Couldn't be easier!

Obviously, he wasn't about to say that aloud—though his face probably did all the talking for him. Instead, he asked, "Isn't there some way you or the Commander could stall them and buy us a little time?"

"We can try, but they're probably expecting it," Kira answered. No guesses needed as to how likely she thought their chances of success would be. "They know we'll be trying to find them. They're going to do everything they can to minimize their transmission time."

"Suppose we'd better get to work, then," O'Brien said on a sigh.

"I'll be back in twenty minutes with the Constable's information." Kira climbed the ladder again and left.

He was about to turn back to his work, but before he could, he felt a hand on his arm. He glanced back to see Dax giving him a soothing smile.

"Don't worry, Miles," she said. "We'll find Julian, and Garak, too. They'll be fine."

O'Brien attempted to smile back, though he was willing to bet it looked horrible. Dr. Bashir was a nuisance and no mistake, but that didn't mean he deserved to be plucked off the station and held against his will by a bunch of terrorists. Even if they were telling the truth about returning him unharmed, he couldn't imagine a xenophobic bunch like them would make life too pleasant for any Human in their gentle arms—especially a Human with the habit of mouthing off.

As for Garak . . . . He was none too fond of the Cardassians, it was true, but if The Circle was planning on doing to him half of what the Cardassians did during the Occupation, he felt sorry for the man. It was a bloody awful way to go no matter who you were.

All he said in response, however, was, "I hope you're right, Lieutenant." He turned his gaze back to the communications circuitry and sighed. "Let's see what miracles we can work in the next twenty minutes."

*

Julian could still feel his fingers, and frankly, that worried him. He could see the tendons standing out on the back of Garak's hand from the effort of keeping his grip at a normal pressure. If he didn't know better, he would think they were on the verge of flying apart. He'd have much preferred to have his hand crushed, but he could hardly say as much to Garak—his friend would not react well. He couldn't afford that. Not when Garak's tendons weren't all that seemed on the verge of severing.

"Garak, I want you to breathe with me. We're going to count our breaths."

His voice was soft, even softer than usual, in reaction to Garak's decreasing control over his own volume. It was a deficiency the other man demonstrated with his next words.

"Why? I'm not one of your patients, Doctor, and I fail to see what good it will do!"

"I believe in practicing preventative medicine," he replied calmly. "And it will serve as a break from me rambling on—I'm beginning to run out of things to say. Unless you'd like me to dictate to you the report on that sample data I was supposed to have finished by now, of course."

He received no answer but Garak's too-quick, raspy breaths.

"Come on. Let's go. One. . . ."

He took in a slow, even breath through his nose, listening for Garak. The other man's breathing was jerky and fast, but he didn't let himself be concerned. It was only the first breath.

When he breathed out, through his mouth, this time, Garak was better able to copy him. He made certain to breathe out just a little longer than he breathed in. The last thing he wanted was for Garak's breathing to turn into tension, or worse, hyperventilation.

"Two. . . ."

It took dozens of breath, but gradually, Julian could actually see Garak come down from the peak of his panic attack to something a little more manageable. He hardly had time to relax himself, though, when Garak averted his head.

"I'm making quite the fool of myself here. I'm sorry you've had to witness me being so—irrational." His voice dropped and he muttered, "I just have to _focus_. Fear has no place in an ordered mind. If I only—"

"Garak," Julian interrupted firmly. If he let that go on, Garak would talk himself to pieces and undo all their work. "It's _all right_. There's no shame in being afraid. Everyone is afraid of something, and if they claim they aren't, they're lying."

"There's shame if your foolish, childish fear makes you a liability in a very dire situation indeed." Garak's voice grew louder with every word. "Don't patronize me, Doctor. I know full well how terribly I'm embarrassing myself and I don't need you to lie to me to spare my feelings!"

Julian forced himself to keep a level tone. "This kind of talk isn't helping. Let's go back and do a little more breathing."

"Why?" Garak demanded. "It isn't doing any good!"

"Because I say so!" 

Julian closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke next, his voice was soft again. "Let's just . . . breathe for a while. Where were we again?"

Garak's head lowered; when he spoke again, it was clear his anger had been extinguished. "Forty-three."

"Right. Forty-four. . . ."

*

Sisko waited for Dax and O'Brien to appear from the engineering pit before beginning to speak—but only just. The moment both of O'Brien's feet were on the floor of ops, that was it. There was no time left for even a delay as brief as waiting for him to reach the table.

"We have five minutes before The Circle is due to contact us. I hope this hour was a productive one."

"It was for us. Major Kira and I were able to find a pattern to the arrests made on terrorism charges over the past half a year," Odo reported. "There was a spike in arrests made on the planet right around the time of the official dissolution of the organization, but the last three have all been on Bajor's second and third moons." 

"Even if Bajor itself was the main focus of operations during the Occupation, there was still a lot going on out on the moons," Kira added. "They're all thick with caves—it's the perfect place to hide. You're only likely to get caught if you come up to the surface for supplies."

"Which is how the three most recent terrorists were caught," Odo finished. "Unfortunately, they were spread out over a large enough area that we didn't have time to work out where they were hiding."

"I see. Thank you, Major, Constable." It was a start—but at this point, that wasn't enough. He glanced over to where Dax and the Chief were standing. "What about the two of you? Any luck?"

"Some." Dax's voice was as level as ever as she went on, but she didn't look happy. "We can confirm that The Circle is definitely operating out of the second or possibly third moon, but we can't narrow it down any further. The moons were in conjunction when The Circle first contacted us, so while we're pretty certain the message was transmitted from the second moon, we can't be positive."

"I'll get down in the pit, sir," O'Brien volunteered. "I know it's a long shot, but if you can keep them talking for a while, I should be able to pinpoint where the signal's coming from."

"Do it." Sisko gave a sharp nod. "They'll be hailing us any minute."

O'Brien strode back to the pit ladder; almost as soon as his feet clanged against the metal flooring, the station computer alerted them to a hail. Dax quickly resumed her post.

"Onscreen."

As the viewer flicked into operation, the same trio of robed figures as before appeared—or at least, Sisko assumed they were the same. With their features so well disguised, it would be impossible to be sure, and since only their leader had spoken the last time, he had no way of confirming the identities of the other two. It made pinning down their numbers difficult, which was no doubt the entire point.

Their backdrop was different this time, though he couldn't tell whether that was from a slightly different transmitter angle or a complete change of location. All he knew was the bulbous rock spire behind the Circle member to his left hadn't been in view before.

(It was a strange thing to be thinking, but he found himself understanding how frustrated the Cardassians had become when dealing with the Bajoran Resistance over the decades of the Occupation. The Circle was far too skilled at erasing any and all details he might use to determine even the most basic information about them, and even after such a short period of time, it was more than beginning to wear on him.)

"It's been one hour, Commander." The leader's voice was familiar, at least—it was the same woman as before. "Have you made your decision?"

Sisko released his hands from behind his back to spread them before him, palms out. It was a gesture he knew many Humans and Bajorans shared: an indication that the speaker was not a threat. "I'm afraid I've run into a little trouble with that. You see, Starfleet has a very specific set of protocols for dealing with hostage situations. I've been in contact with Starfleet Headquarters and they've given Dr. Bashir's return top priority, but matters have been complicated by the abduction of a non-Federation citizen from a station where the Federation has been given jurisd—"

"We don't care about your internal politics," the leader cut him off. "You can set up the details on your own time. They're not our concern. Now, do you want your doctor back or not?"

Damn. The leader was too intelligent to be drawn into a long conversation. At the rate things were going, he wasn't sure how much more time he could give O'Brien. Still, he had to keep trying to delay.

Before he could reply, however, Kira slipped in ahead of him with one of her incredulous laughs.

"Commander, I've been telling you for the last hour—take their offer! They're giving you Dr. Bashir back unharmed. What else is there to discuss?"

. . . Now that was interesting. Kira hadn't been telling him anything over the last hour—he'd been shut up in his office, arguing with a series of provisional government officials. And she certainly wasn't one to give up, either, even on a job she disliked.

Sisko turned to face her, letting himself frown. "That may be so, but there's still the matter of Mr. Garak."

"He's a _Cardassian_! Let Cardassia worry about him." When he remained silent, she gave him a look that didn't stop short of insubordination. "Don't pretend you're going to lose any sleep over him. The Federation spent decades fighting the Cardassians—you can't tell me that's all been forgotten in two years!"

Sisko's gaze dropped. "That may be the case, but. . . ."

"Do what they're telling you, Commander," Kira pressed. "You stand to gain a hell of a lot more than you'll lose."

He counted one, two, three . . . then lifted his head and addressed the figures on the viewscreen. "All right. But you had better keep your promise that Dr. Bashir will be returned to us in perfect condition."

"Of course." The leader's mask tilted upward slightly; her tone was smug. "We'll rendezvous with you in orbit above the southern hemisphere of the third moon of Bajor XI in three hours. In return, you're not to pursue us in any way or fire on us, or the deal is off. Understood?"

Sisko nodded once, the movement slow and small. Even before he had lifted his head again, the transmission cut out.

He spent no time contemplating the empty viewer but immediately turned to Kira. "I hope you have a plan, Major, because otherwise you've put us in a very difficult situation."

"I do." Kira met his gaze. "I recognize the cave they're in."

His brows flew up. "You're certain of that?"

"Positive." She smiled a bit. Behind them, Sisko could hear O'Brien emerging from the engineering pit. "To be honest with you, Commander, while being in the Resistance was exciting when you were fighting Cardassians or fleeing for your life, there was a lot of sitting around caves, staring at rocks. Some rocks, you got to know _really_ well . . . like the one on the viewer just now."

He believed her—they'd built up a lot of trust over the past year—but still, he had to ask: "What was so memorable about that one in particular? It looked like just another rock to me."

“If you look at it from the right angle, it looks just like Kai Opaka,” she answered. “The nose is a little big, and her cap is a bit crooked, but aside from that, it's the spitting image. When Lupaza pointed it out to us, we couldn't believe it.”

Sisko tried to recall the rock in the viewer image, mentally setting the Kai's face alongside it. “. . . I'll take your word for it.”

Kira shifted her balance to her other foot a bit awkwardly, her hand coming up to rest on her hip. “We . . . had been staring at an awful lot of rocks at that point.”

“I don't doubt it.”

He looked about at his staff, his smile fading into something a little graver. "Kira, you and O'Brien are going to be responsible for retrieving Dr. Bashir and Garak. What can you tell me about the entrances to the cave system, Major?"

"There are quite a few of them and none are obvious—it's probably why The Circle chose the location as their new base," she reported. All evidence of previous awkwardness had been excised from her manner. "I'd be surprised if they had the numbers to guard them all. There's entrance in particular I'm thinking of that's a couple of kilometres from the main area they may not know about yet. It would be ideal for getting in without them noticing us."

"Then that's where I want you to touch down." He shifted his gaze to O'Brien. "Chief, I want you to disguise the warp signature of the shuttle. They may have the capability to monitor the traffic above their base. Dax, you'll pilot them in and then fly out of sensor range—but not communication range."

"Got it. It'll be tricky, but we'll manage," she promised him.

"Good." He surveyed the others once again. "This may be tight. Make sure you prepare yourselves. We're not looking for a fight, but The Circle may want to give us one anyway. They might still have weaponry left over from when the Cardassians were supplying them, so be careful."

"We will be, sir," Kira answered, but it was clear she was speaking for all of them. Seeing the determination in every single expression around him, Sisko couldn't be prouder. He may have taken this post reluctantly, but now he wouldn't trade it or one person before him for anything anyone could offer.

"Good. That's what I want to hear. And one last thing," he added when it seemed everyone was ready to depart. "Kira, before you make your preparations, I'd like you to point out the location of these caves on a map so Odo and I can alert the provisional government to have the militia on standby." He smiled. "The Circle is about to have a lot more to do than stare at oddly-shaped rocks. Dismissed."

*

Telling the time in a cave after an unknown period of unconsciousness was impossible. It felt, though, as if it had been hours, during which he had done nothing more than sit in the dark in this damned cave and keep Garak's panic attack as manageable as possible. His lack of means to help his friend was growing more frustrating—was in fact well on its way to infuriating—as the few options he had grew steadily less effective.

He wasn't sure how much longer slow breathing was going to work. He wasn't sure how useful rambling at Garak was going to be a second time, but he was going to hope it did _something_ , because it was all he had.

. . . And then there was the soft, still-distant sound of boots on grit.

Ordinarily, Julian would wait a moment or two before drawing to the attention of others what he had heard. But with the disparity between Human and Cardassian hearing and the state Garak was in, he doubted he was going to be questioned on the matter.

"Garak," he whispered.

Garak didn't react. His eyes stayed closed tight and his breathing pattern did not change.

" _Garak_." He squeezed his friend's hand. "There's someone coming."

That did get a response. Garak opened his eyes and turned his head, and against his arm, Julian could feel him drawing himself up from his slump.

His voice was low and ragged when he spoke. "Our captors at last?"

"I don't know. I can't tell." He couldn't even be sure they weren't simply passing by. The acoustics of the cave were making it extremely difficult to work out anything—except that there must be several tunnels nearby to distort the sound so.

Garak closed his eyes again; Julian felt him tense and his grip on his hand hardened. Then, with a horrible weariness, he said, "It seems it's time to make a few introductions. How delightful."

It took obvious effort for Garak to stand, and just as much effort for Julian not to help him. He knew, though, that to show any concern, any pity now would have a terrible effect upon not only Garak's ability to present his facade, but also upon their friendship.

And so he tucked his worries away and tried not to feel it so acutely when Garak let go of his hand for the first time since Julian had taken it all that time ago. In the last few moments before their company arrived, he flexed his cramped and empty hand by his side and out of the corner of his eye, he caught Garak doing the same. The evidence of their shared sensation brought a faint smile to his lips.

It lasted only until a masked figure in a burgundy cloak stepped into view.

The person was solidly built, their uniform stretching across their shoulders and thick arms, and they carried a small light. After all his time in the dark, it was enough to make him squint his eyes against its dull glow, and he winced at how much worse it would be for Garak's more sensitive eyes.

But that was enough of that line of thought. He refused to let this Circle member direct the conversation, and nor was he about to make Garak do any more talking than he had to when frankly it was a miracle he could even stand calmly. It was up to him to take control.

"Well, there you are!" He locked his hands behind his back. "I was beginning to think we'd been left here to rot. Just what do you think you're doing, abducting a Federation officer and a resident of Deep Space Nine like this?"

"We regret the necessity of taking you, Doctor." The voice of the Circle member was higher in pitch than he had expected, and he mentally adjusted his assumptions. "We had no desire to involve you in this matter. Regardless, you will not be involved for much longer. We have just concluded negotiations with Commander Sisko for your release."

When she didn't go on, when her last words hung in the dead air, he stared at her. He could feel his pulse beating him, could hear it, at what she didn't say.

" _And_?" The word ripped from him, one syllable violent with betrayal.

"My dear doctor, I don't know why you were expecting anything else."

Julian snapped his head around to where Garak stood, chin raised, offering them detached amusement.

"The Circle would never agree to give me up. I'm sure your commander saw the life of one Cardassian as a rather unfortunate but ultimately acceptable trade to make for the safe return of his chief medical officer."

His voice was calm and measured, and it was a lie as fine as any he'd ever spun. To the Circle member, he would surely sound nothing more than inconvenienced, but Julian knew Garak. The man was one of his few close friends on DS9, and he could tell from light years away how much this was costing him. Oh, certainly the words were right and so was the vocabulary. But the inflections were misplaced and unfamiliar, as if a stranger were impersonating Garak. The stranger had captured the words, but not the man.

"Commander Sisko—"

. . . would never sacrifice the life of anyone on his station for the sake of expediency.

Before Garak could react, Julian seized his hand again, wove their fingers together with no gentleness. He brought his checked anger back into his voice, but drew it this time not from betrayal but the knowledge of what the person in front of him had planned for Garak.

"Commander Sisko is just going to have to go back to the bargaining table." He lifted his chin to stare down at their captor in imitation of Garak. "Either Garak and I leave together, or I'm staying right here with him."

"Doctor, don't be foolish." He felt his hand jerk and glanced over just long enough to watch Garak make a second attempt to free himself. His façade was abruptly wavering; his voice had lost much of its force.

Julian held on all the tighter.

"Do what they say!" Garak urged. "You don't know what you're signing up for, but believe me, I do."

Garak was right: he didn't know. But thinking of what The Circle intended for Garak, however uncertain his knowledge might be, increased his resolution instead of sapping it.

"I don't care."

He was shaking, but from adrenaline, not fear. If the force field hadn't been separating them, he would have taken on the Circle member before him right then and there, so exhilarated was he with his defiance.

The expression of the woman was impossible to determine and her body language was difficult to discern, but her disbelief rang through the cave. "Why are you rejecting your chance to escape for _his_ sake?"

"Because he's my friend," he shot back. "So you can go tell your leaders that you have to reopen negotiations with Commander Sisko, because I'm not going anywhere."

There was a long silence as the echo of his final words faded away, and Julian was certain he'd scored a victory.

But then the woman spoke again. "You will be released to the Federation, willing or unwilling. It makes no difference to us."

Before Julian could gather himself for another attack, she turned and walked away, taking her lamp with her.

A shudder shook against his dampened hand, and he was just in time to stop Garak from walking straight into the force field in pursuit of the light.

"Steady, there, Garak." With care, he pulled back on his friend's upper arm to ease him away from the field. He turned him side-on, so that he could still have some light falling on his face, but also so he couldn't compare the scant dimensions of their cell to the larger area just out of reach. 

He tried to hold his eyes, but it was impossible. Garak was ceaselessly measuring the distance from one wall to the next with his gaze, and that wasn't helping in the slightest. "Look at me. Just at me."

Garak managed to do so for a breath. His eyes flicked away. Came back. He muttered, "You are the most mindless being I have ever encountered, of any species. How many times do I have to _tell_ —"

He broke off to whip his head around, no doubt painfully. His focus was slow to return.

"Oh, I'd say at least another two hundred times," he answered with the briskness all doctors learned. "You may as well save your breath." A light squeeze of Garak's hand, still locked in his. "Now, I've thought of more to ramble on about. Do you think you could put up with me talking at you again?"

Garak went still, save for the now constant tremors Julian could feel beneath his skin. The faint glow of the force field glinted off the sweat on Garak's brow and lit where his fine black hair was clumping together at his temples from dampness.

The nod he gave was small. But it was still discernible.

Julian guided him back to what had become their seats. He kept Garak's hand in his and once again was permitted to do so.

"I never did tell you why I became a doctor, did I? To be honest, it wasn't my intent from the start—when I was a boy, I was terrified of doctors. . . ."


	5. Act Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kira and O'Brien infiltrate The Circle's stronghold in an attempt to rescue Julian and Garak before Sisko's scheduled meeting with the leader of the cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is Act 5, where Star Trek episodes tie everything up into a neat little bundle (provided they aren't multi-parters) --and consequently, that's what happens here. Thank you very much to everyone for reading! It's been a real pleasure, and the feedback I've gotten has been incredibly kind.
> 
> You'll probably be happy to know that I haven't been idle during the five weeks I've been posting this. I now have enough other fic lined up to keep posting at this rate for the next three months. I'm going to try to keep things coming at this rate for the next few weeks, although I may take a bit of a hiatus next month to get caught up on all my proofreading (there's a lot of it).
> 
> Once again, thank you for coming on this trip with me, and I hope you enjoy the conclusion. <3

Kira couldn't stop checking her phaser. She knew her orders—that any violence was to be left to the militia. And she knew what was smart, for that matter, which wasn't charging forward, phasers blasting, two fighters versus who knew how many Circle members. She had been a terrorist herself, yes, and she knew how to turn a bad situation to her favour. The problem was, she was over a year out of practice—and these people weren't.

"I don't think your phaser has slipped out of alignment in the six minutes since you last checked it," Dax remarked without taking her eyes from the starfield before her.

Kira pinched her lips together until she could take the comment as it was intended. "I know. I'm just not that fond of this situation."

"Know what you mean," Chief O'Brien inserted from the seat behind her. "Even if these aren't the cream of the crop, I had my fill of the The Circle last month. I'm not exactly in a rush to renew my acquaintance."

"You probably won't even see anyone," Dax said to them both, annoyingly calm. "Don't worry."

"That's easy for you to say—you're piloting the shuttle," Kira pointed out.

"True," Dax acknowledged. A beat, then: "I think it's sweet, though, the way the two of you are so concerned about Julian."

It was hard to say whose " _What_?" was louder or more incredulous—hers or Chief O'Brien's.

Kira immediately followed it up with a, "Don't be ridiculous."

"The man is the worse pest I've met in my entire life!" O'Brien added. "I'm not 'concerned' about him in the slightest."

"Of course you aren't," Dax agreed mildly, but Kira knew her friend well enough to hear her hidden laughter. "You're only doing this because it's your duty."

"Right." O'Brien didn't say anything further—Dax _was_ his superior officer—but Kira could hear his thoughts as loudly as if she were a Betazoid.

And that was more than enough of that. "How long until Commander Sisko is supposed to rendezvous with The Circle?"

Dax glanced at the console before her. "Not quite two hours."

Kira let out a breath and settled into her seat. In less than two hours—less than one to be safe—they needed to land on the moon, infiltrate the caves, perform their rescue, and beam back to the runabout without being detected. Otherwise, she got the feeling the whole deal would be off. That's how she would have run this, back in the old days.

"Now approaching the second moon," Dax announced.

"Got it."

As Kira stood up, she checked her phaser one last time . . . just to be absolutely sure.

*

"Garak! Garak, sit _down_."

Shouting would do no good, would further undo the pathetically little he had accomplished, but there was no separating the urgency from his voice. It slipped beneath the slap of Garak's hands on the walls of their prison as he pushed and pressed and caught at every fragment of jutting rock.

Garak's voice, by contrast, was loud enough to echo. "Thank you, Doctor, but I've done quite enough sitting! It's about time I found us a way out, or, or a bit of air, or a next step—yes, we've been staying on the same step for far too long, far too—"

" _Garak_."

Julian took hold of his upper arm; Garak whipped away and collided with the rear wall. He didn't seem to notice.

"I'll work on finding a way out. You need to sit and breathe."

"I _can't_ breathe, you stupid man!" Garak yelled. "There's _no air_!"

"There is if you just—"

Garak yanked down on a jagged piece of stone that couldn't possibly give way. The skin of his fingertips tore; red-black blood smeared the sandy rock. He reached up to try again, unconscious of his injury, and Julian's hand locked around his wrist.

"Garak, stop! There's no point to this!"

Before he could go on, Garak once again twisted out of his grasp and circled back around their cell. His gaze raised and lowered from ceiling to floor at a frantic rate, as he'd begun to do the moment Julian's mouth had run dry and he'd taken just a bit too long to try to swallow to continue his story. Julian let him go, but only long enough to jerk a length of fabric from their blanket.

A single long stride was all he needed to catch up, but when he reached out, Garak turned to pry at what must have looked to him to be another chance for air. More blood was pressed into the walls of their prison.

And Julian was finished being gentle. "Garak, your _hand_."

The quiet force of his voice appeared to bring Garak back to himself, if only a little, and he turned to face him and hold out his hand. The violence of his movement had further disarrayed his already untidy hair. His wide and blank blue stare, the audible heave of his breath, they all were a part of his disintegration made visible, and though Julian's hands were careful with the least sterile bandage he had ever wrapped, his anger—which had ebbed in the face of his need to care for Garak—flowed into him once again. If only there were a way out of this damned place. The way he felt now, felt all over again, he'd take on the whole Circle single-handedly if only it would. . . .

There were two sets of footsteps in the cavern outside, and whispers.

Julian's hand reflexively gripped harder, and that should have hurt, but even now Garak didn't react. All the same, he hissed, "Sorry. Two of them this time."

Garak gave him no answer. He only closed his eyes and dragged in a shaking breath.

As the pair outside drew closer, Julian took Garak's hand in his, curling his injured fingers into his palm and clasping them there. This time, not only was it a show of solidarity, but it was to conceal what would have been an inexplicable injury. He didn't want The Circle spending any time trying to work out a reason for it.

Soon, he could hear speech, and he strained to listen to the few words they offered. He could catch their tone only, but as soon as he did . . . he dropped Garak's hand as he surprised himself with a soft gasp.

"It's the Chief!" Oh, it was going to take all he had not to give the other man the biggest hug of his _life_.

He took in a breath to call for him, and this time, it was Garak's hand striking out to bite his arm in a painful hold.

"You said two," he rasped. " _Think_."

Julian's eyes widened. He'd assumed the other person was a second rescuer, but of course he couldn't be sure. If the Chief was being tracked instead, he might as well be personally handing him to The Circle.

He stayed silent.

A breath and a breath more, and the thinnest beam of light flicked onto the rock wall outside their cell. It grew in size in a way Julian wanted to hope was different from that of the Circle member's (had the last light been so blue?). Both he and Garak stood almost against the barrier, silent and this time separate.

The light swept the outside room. It was followed by Chief O'Brien—even in these last uncertain moments Julian couldn't have possibly stopped the smile that flooded his face—and. . . .

"Major! Chief!" he whispered over the pounding of his heart.

"All right there, Julian?" the Chief asked ("Julian"!), a brief smile crinkling his face as he went after a bit of paneling that, thanks to the Major's hand lamp, Julian could see at last.

"Yes, but Garak's taken an allergic reaction to the sedative The Circle used on us," he answered crisply. "He'll need immediate medical care."

His eyes were first on the Chief at his work, then Kira as she covered the entrance to their holding area with her phaser ready—but beside him, he heard the shift of clothing and felt a shoulder brush his arm. Though he warmed at the touch and its intent, he kept his medical professional's expression fixed to his face.

It must have been no time at all, and surely after being held for hours with Garak in his deteriorating condition it ought to feel that way too. But of course this moment, as the Chief's blunt fingers tapped out the commands to release them, was the most difficult to stand.

The force field vanished and beside him Garak gasped painfully as most of their light went with it. Now they were down to only the thin portable light the Chief held. Julian didn't stop to reflect on how much worse this must be for Garak—he only curled his arm around him in the manner of one supporting a man on the verge of collapse.

"Hurry," he snapped out as Garak let himself be supported. (How did he even now have enough presence of mind to be a participant in this deception?) "I'm not sure how much longer he can last."

Major Kira cast one last look down the corridor, then strode across the outer chamber, her hand outstretched. "Here, put these on. Dax is on the _Ganges_ —she'll need a minute to pilot into transporter range."

Julian knew what she had to be holding, but he didn't risk groping for the Starfleet combadges until they had been caught by the Chief's light. The moment both of them were in his hand, Kira tapped her own combadge.

"Kira to _Ganges_. Four to beam up."

Dax's voice was faint, and there was a whisper of static on the line, but Julian still smiled as she responded, "Got it. ETA two minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Dax out."

At Kira resumed her guard post, Julian fastened his combadge to his off-duty clothing. (Surely the occasion he'd worn it for was at least a day ago by now—he was certainly hungry enough for that to be the case.) Then, he pinned the other to Garak's thick tunic-style shirt.

Once again, he smiled. There was something not quite right about Garak with a Starfleet combadge. It just wasn't the sort of thing you expected a spy—sorry, _tailor_ —to wear.

Before he pulled his hand back, he gave Garak's shoulder a light pat, making sure the touch landed well below the other man's ridges. "Steady on, Garak. We're almost there. Just hang in a little longer."

He received no response, but he had been expecting as much. It lent further weight to the idea that Garak needed medical care.

Apparently, the Chief thought so as well. "Damn, his allergy's pretty bad, isn't it? He looks really out of it."

Julian felt Garak roll his head upward on his shoulder to briefly fix his stare on the Chief. He couldn't see the kind of expression Garak had pulled together, but he could imagine it.

"Well, it has had hours to progress," Julian answered, but before he could say anything more in Garak's defence, Kira whispered, "Stop talking, both of you. I don't know about you, but I'd really hate to get caught in the last thirty seconds."

His heart gave a tremendous jump at the reminder of how close safety was to them. If they were discovered now, he wasn't sure Garak could stand it. He'd summoned some threadbare control to wear in front of the others, but if they lost their chance to escape, Julian was certain it would give way, and then. . . . 

And then his body was caught in the transporter beam. In the second before he lost control of his movements, he pulled Garak tight against him.

*

When they materialised on the runabout, Julian barely glanced at Jadzia before he yanked open the onboard medkit and snatched up a hypo. He fitted in the lowest dosage he possibly could of ambizine; the runabout was of course not carrying anything that could be used as a placebo to keep up the illusion of Garak's “allergic reaction.” Privately, he thought Garak could actually do with a full dose of the sedative. He wasn't in a position to offer it with the others listening in, though, and he certainly wasn't about to administer it without consent.

As he suspected, being out of the caves and into the bright (though not spacious) runabout was calming enough for Garak to mimic the physical signs of an antihistamine taking effect. That bought him enough time to take the two of them to the station and then to the infirmary.

It was very touching to see just how many people were relieved at his return, particularly out of the senior staff and his own medical staff, but he hardly needed to see Garak tensing up to know that large numbers of people crowding around them to express said relief was not helpful. And so he ordered them all out of the infirmary so he could "treat" Garak in peace.

Once he judged enough time had passed, he sneaked Garak out and walked him back to his quarters, at last completing what he'd started a surprisingly short time ago.

"There we are," he said once Chamber 901 of Habitat Level H-3 came into view. "Back at last—and it only took us two tries to get there."

His joke fell flat; it didn't pull even the slightest of smiles from his friend. That worried him, but it didn't surprise him. He'd been watching Garak all the way up from the infirmary. Garak's movements had been very contained—almost fragile—and his back had been very straight. It was clear he was at the end of his endurance.

That was why, when Garak unlocked the door to his quarters and stepped inside, Julian made no move to even ask to come in with him. However much it felt like abandonment, it was time to leave Garak alone.

But not, by any means, without a lifeline.

"Good night, Garak. If you need me for any reason, at _any_ time of day or night, just call me. I'll be there immediately."

He kept his tone firm and without pity, but apparently it didn't matter. Garak was looking straight through him.

"Thank you, Doctor," he replied, his voice as distant as his gaze. "That's most kind of you. Now I believe it's past time for me to be in bed. Good night."

"Good ni—" Julian began before the door slid shut in his face.

He hesitated on the threshold for some time, the fingers of his empty hand curling in on his palm. If he hadn't recalled just how famished he was, he might have stood there for some time more. But, it seemed, at last it was his turn to think of himself. Garak would have to wait until he was ready for company again. Until then, he would have to try not to worry about him.

As he suspected, that was not a simple task.

He forced himself to stay away for a full day. It wasn't as though he were unavailable, he told himself. If Garak wanted to see him, he'd call him on his combadge.

He came as close to breaking his resolution as walking past Garak's shop—which, incredibly, was open for business—on the way to the replimat, but he didn't step inside. After a while, he went over to Quark's. The replimat wasn't helping him not think.

The second day, however, he entered. Garak was seated at his sewing machine in plain sight of the door. The professional smile on his lips as he looked up soon warmed into something else when he recognised who his visitor was.

"Doctor! How good to see you. I trust you've recovered from our little adventure?"

It was as if nothing had happened, Julian thought in a kind of wonder. As if their "adventure" had been a—a malfunctioning replicator on a vacation, not a kidnapping. As if Julian hadn't stood up to terrorists for him, hadn't done his all to stop him from beating his hands bloody in the worst panic attack he'd witnessed in his career.

Garak was a proud man, he knew, as he was himself. He understood that. But surely there ought to be some acknowledgment there, that something had happened. That things had changed between them.

"Yes, I'm all back to normal, thank you," he answered, and there. He was no better, was he? "Actually, I was coming by to see how your recovery was going."

"Oh, I'm quite fine now." Garak smiled at him from behind his desk, across several metres of shop. "It's remarkable what a good meal and a night's rest can do. After that, I felt like a new man."

The physical distance, at least, was simple to cross. Those gangly legs of his were finally useful for something, and that was bringing him to Garak's sewing table in seconds. So as not to loom, he half-sat against the nearest corner before he answered.

"I'm glad to hear it. And I thought you would be glad to hear that the entire cell of The Circle responsible for kidnapping us was arrested by the Bajoran militia. It will be some time before they come to trial, but I assumed you'd appreciate that they're the ones behind the field instead of us."

Garak's smile remained in place, but his eyes narrowed just a bit. "What a pity that their accommodations will be far more pleasant than ours were. And, for that matter, that they're going to be tried in a Bajoran court."

That . . . was a little more vindictive than Julian was feeling, given what he knew about the Cardassian "justice system," but then again, he wasn't the claustrophobic one. He supposed it was understandable.

". . . There's one thing I don't understand, though." It had been bothering him long before the rescue, during those immeasurable periods of counting and counting their breaths, and he hadn't stopped wondering since. "The Circle left you alone when they were at the height of their influence, a Cardassian living on a Bajoran station. It was only when they were struggling to survive that they went after you. Why now?"

Garak flipped something on his sewing machine; it powered down. "I can only assume that before now, they were unaware of me. I do tend to lead a quiet life."

Was that possible? Circle members had been on the station for some period of time, leaving their mark and even going so far as to assault Quark. Then again, if his suspicions about Garak were correct, Quark would have been the far safer target. It hadn't seemed to bother them this time, though. And if he accepted Garak's explanation. . . .

"Then what made them aware?"

Garak beamed at him. "Very _good_ , Doctor! Although, the question should be not 'what,' but 'who.'"

He frowned. "You think someone deliberately told The Circle you were here?"

"Mm." Garak gave a precise nod. "Though not directly. There are certain people The Circle would not take instructions from all that well."

"Certain people" obviously meant the Cardassians. The Circle were extremely xenophobic and so technically Garak could be referring to any non-Bajoran species, but knowing his fondness for understatement, he doubted it was anyone else.

Still, it was best not to assume just yet. "Do you think it was someone from your past?"

He doubted he was getting an answer to that one; after months of fishing, he'd had not a single bite. He was surprised, then, when Garak answered, "Yes—though not the _distant_ past. I've made an enemy recently, and so have you. Frankly, I'm surprised The Circle was so willing to let you go . . . but perhaps our friend has other plans for you."

That didn't make any sense. "An enemy that we've both made?" Their acquaintances didn't exactly overlap, and anyway, though he couldn't speak for Garak, he couldn't think of anyone he'd angered to the point where they'd arrange a _kidnapping_.

. . . But that wasn't right, was it?

"You mean Gul Dukat."

Garak spread his hands. "I really couldn't say."

"In other words, there's no evidence."

There was only a great deal of logic. Dukat was a vindictive, amoral man, and just last month, he and Garak had ruined a plot of his eight years in the making. He was foolish not to have expected retaliation in some form. If Dukat had made his suggestion through an intermediary, had perhaps even given The Circle the funding they no doubt desperately needed . . . they wouldn't have asked too many questions about where it was all coming from, would they? Not if they wanted to get their movement back on its feet and restore it to its previous level of influence.

"Doctor."

Julian looked up from where he'd been staring very hard at the sewing machine to find Garak watching him.

"Hm?"

"I believe it's time for lunch." Garak rose and replaced his chair. "I know it isn't our usual day, but would you care to join me?"

"Julian," he answered, because suddenly the way across more than just the shop had become obvious.

Garak tilted his head slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it seems a bit silly, doesn't it? Here we've just been kidnapped and locked up in a cell together for hours, facing an uncertain fate, and we're still calling each other 'Doctor' and 'Garak.'I tell everyone to call me 'Julian,' and most of them haven't shared half the experiences we have—not even a quarter." He huffed out a chuckle. "Most of them don't do it either, of course, but my point still stands."

Garak was silent for a moment, those brilliant blue eyes of his taking in seemingly every last detail of his face. He'd read in one of the few medical books on Cardassians he'd been able to find that their average rate of blinking was significantly lower than that of Humans. He'd also heard that some people found it unsettling. He wasn't one of them. That simply was how Cardassian were—how Garak was. Even now, as he waited for a response, the only thing making him nervous was how damned long Garak was spending on his answer.

At last . . . he smiled. "Then it's Elim."

"Elim?" He blinked. "Elim Garak?"

"That's right," Garak—Elim said and mercifully didn't comment on how stupid he sounded.

And continued to sound: "It's . . . nice."

Honestly, could he have sounded any more inane? It was true—he did like the sound of the name and the way it slipped quietly through his mouth—but if there was a worse way to express himself, he certainly couldn't think of one.

At least Elim was entertained, judging from his voice as he said, "Well, then, Julian Bashir, shall we be off? The replimat awaits."

Those light words, the neat gesture to the door, and the smile on his face all banished his embarrassment and a smile of his own sprang easily onto his face. Not that long ago, he'd had to explain to Elim what the phrase “silver lining” referred to in one of his books. Elim had been dismissive, unsurprisingly, and had poked a bit of fun at him for believing in the philosophy. Right now, while he wouldn't express it until Elim had at least a week between him and their experience with The Circle, he felt very strongly that the expression applied.

"Then let's not keep it."

On that thought and with their strides matched, side-by-side, Julian and Elim left for lunch together.


End file.
